Canticles of Love
by Ser Hermia
Summary: A monstrous compilation of romantic one-shots, written by Hermia S and SerNature. All kinds of pairings and silliness abound! Check the introduction chapter for details!
1. Introduction

Hello~ This is SerNature. Servant of Nature on the Bioware Social Site. This wonderful thing you are about to witness is a compilation of the romantic, fluffy, perverted ideas of myself and one Hermia S. Some of the pairings will be cracky, some pure romance, or just flirting. Some have smut, some are hurt/comfort, and there will be angst, too. We'll put a small intro for each story so you know what you're getting into. Hope you enjoy it; if people respond well we might take pairing requests.

P.S.: Go to our profile for links to our separate accounts.

SerNature's list:

Mahariel and Tamlen - "We just admitted our love" sex  
Brosca and Oghren – Getting over lost loves together  
Amell and Zevran. X2 – one fluffy, one smutty  
Cousland and Ser Gilmore – unrequited love, longing maybe some M!solo  
Orlesian Warden and Alistair – cracky, super slutty smut  
**Tabris and Nelaros – THE FLUFFIEST FLUFF SEX YOU'VE EVER DONE SAW**  
Wynne and Zevran – magical bosom is revealed.  
Tabris and Teagan – hurt/comfort. Not sure if there's smut yet  
Cousland and Nathaniel – fluffy secretive teenage sexings  
Cousland and Alistair – rose conversation with Rose. fluff  
Brosca and Duncan – appreciative savior sex  
Soldier and Daveth – #9 gets a taste of the ol' Daveth - **COMPLETE  
**Tabris and Cailan – Theirin gene strikes again, Tabris doesn't mind  
Cousland and Teagan - "You were supposed to be mine." "I still am." sad but fluffy sex in which Cousland isn't a Warden but gets married to King!Alistair  
Leliana and Ser Bryant – Comfort. "You will be safe here, no matter what you have done before." **- COMPLETE  
**Loghain and his wife(Celia?) - Angst, maybe a touch of smut? Mostly "she's nothing like Rowan" musings.  
Cullen and Desire Demon – Angsty "keep holding on" stuff, no smut  
Young Greigor/Wynne – In the library, after hours... handsy things

* * *

Well, hello there~ I'm usually _really_ bad with introductions so bear with me. I'm Hermia S (Calla S on the BioWare social site)! Like Ser said up above, this is going to be our little mish-mash of Dragon Age romance. She mentioned cracky, but I think that was just for my sake. Since most of my list of pairings _are_ on the cracky side. I'll throw some smut in, too, on occasion, though she is the smut MASTAH. So. Yes. Hello! And I hope you guys enjoy what we put up here.

Hermia S's list:

Aeducan and Cailan – omg ur cute. omg u r 2!  
Aeducan and Gorim – 'I still love you' sex.  
Aeducan and Sten – kitten cuddles.  
Anora and Anders – 'Wait, you're not my husband' sex.  
Amell and Anders – steamy storage room sex.  
Amell and Dagna - showing her around the Tower - **COMPLETE  
**Celene and Cailan – beautiful royals doing naughty things - **COMPLETE****  
****Cousland and Alistair – _bann_ed.  
**Cousland and Rory - explanation withstanding.  
Cousland and Teagan – married sex in the study.  
Cousland and Varel – you saved my ass sex.  
Isolde's Sister and Teagan - "Is that her bed? Hurr hurr."  
Kaitlyn and Ser Perth - explanation withstanding.  
Mahariel and Nathaniel - 'I gave you a bow, so can I touch yours?' sex.  
Mahariel and Zevran – ridiculous, oddly romantic sex.  
Rowan and Loghain – 'Is it cheating if you love him?' sex.  
Sigrun and Oghren – just hilarity.  
Surana and Cullen – one fluffy and one smutty.  
Whore and Maric – why does this need an explanation.


	2. Hermia S : M Amell and Dagna

_M!Amell, Mykel, and Dagna, the Queen of Adorable. Romping around the tower, explicitly recounted mage/dwarf sex... Kidding, kidding. There is a kiss at the end, though. Kind of._

* * *

  
"You're attracting a lot of attention," Mykel murmured to the dwarf in a hushed whisper, bent at the waist in an attempt to get as close to her ear as possible.

Dagna glanced over her shoulder, her already wide eyes even wider. "What do you mean?"

The mage gave a good-natured laugh, shaking his head. It figured that she'd be all but oblivious to the actual inhabitants of the Tower now that she was there. Her curiosity was sparked and growing continuously as they made their way – very slowly, as she had to give everything a good look before she was satisfied – from room to room.

Everyone else seemed to regard her with the same intrigue, though they were distant and far less enthusiastic. Most of them were a little perturbed by their new guest. That was to be expected, of course. She was an outsider. Not only was she not a mage or a templar, but she was a dwarf. Few of them had ever seen a dwarf in person. He was thankful some of them interrupted his tour of the Circle in order to greet her.

She met each of them with a smile and a string of sentences so tightly wound that they could just barely understand her. Happiness poured off of her in waves, and Mykel could hardly contain his own excitement, no doubt passed off to him by her own contagious glee. After dealing with so many disenchanted people on his trips, it was something else entirely to find and help someone like Dagna. To find such an unsullied soul among jaded men and women was unreal, and he couldn't help but keep her close. It was an instinct. At least, that's what he assured himself.

It helped that her enormous thirst for knowledge mirrored his own, and he could see her tense noticeably the moment they stepped foot into the Circle's cavernous library. He remembered the first time he set his eyes upon the floor to ceiling books. Being only seven at the time, the sheer size of this place intimidated him beyond belief. He felt like the shelves would tumble down and swallow him whole. Turned out, it was his appetite that threatened the tomes and not the other way around.

He watched as she uttered a little squeal of delight and half-ran in the direction of the nearest shelf. Chuckling to himself, the mage wandered over to stand behind her. She was pulling out book after book, flipping them open, admiring the pages with a grin that threatened to take over her entire face. "There's just _so many_ here," she said, her tone dripping in awe. "And I want to read them all!"

"Well, you'll have a lot of time to do so," he reminded her.

She looked up at him, her smile parting to reveal an expression of surprised realization. "You're right! I do!"

Mykel couldn't help but smile back at her, shoulders slouching as they often did on instinct when she was around. She turned around and continued her search for more books. While she wanted to read them all, her first set would have to be perfect. Everything would have to be perfect, and things were already shaping up like that.

"I want to read this one," Dagna murmured to herself, setting a thick book into Mykel's arms. He accepted it without question, still grinning to himself. "And this one." Another book was added to the pile, followed by another and another and _another_. The muscles in his arms were straining against the weight when he saw her eyes latch onto the first volume of "Kinloch Hold: A History."

_No_, he thought to himself. _That one's twice the size of the other ones I'm holding_.

Of course, she was less than aware of how heavy everything must've been, sliding the history text off of the shelf and beaming a wide smile at him before thrusting it into his arms. Little did he know, she would've willingly put one of them back to lessen the strain. But only one.

Instead, she continued searching for another few minutes before she stopped and looked back to her companion, dusting off her hands with an air of finality he was beyond grateful for. "I think I have enough!" She rocked onto the balls of her feet, biting down on her bottom lip as she looked over the books in his arms. "At least for a few days." Pausing, she lifted her hands to her mouth. "I can't believe I'm _here_. And I've met First Enchanter Irving. And and they're setting up my room. I'm gonna have a room!"

"Eventually," Mykel chuckled, voice straining as he fought to keep all the books in his arms. "But not tonight."

"I don't mind sharing in the meantime!" She laughed, too, but it was more of a giggle than a chuckle. The sound made his cheeks hurt. "They could've given me a blanket and a spot on the floor, and I would've taken it in a second!"

The trek up to the second floor was a struggle at best. Dagna was up the stairs in a flash, but Mykel had a fairly difficult time, considering he could hardly see over the stack of books in his arms, much less balance them all simultaneously. She was standing at the top of the stairs when he finally reached the last step, breathless, his dark skin flushed even farther. "It's just so _big_."

"Just wait until you have to climb those stairs a dozen times a day," he sighed. There was a knot of tension between his shoulders, and it was burning like crazy. Stupid books.

He'd chosen the stairs in the opposite direction of the second floor's library in an attempt to keep himself from pulling any muscles, but in his haste, he'd forgotten about the many rugs on the floor completely. While she walked out in front of him, head tilted back as she took in _everything_, he watched her, still unable to get over how pleased he was that she was finally here and it was by his doing.

Distractions always led to him making a fool of himself. It happened when he first started learning spells and hadn't stopped thereafter. Today was no different. When his boot caught the edge of one of the rugs, his body continued to move forward, pulled by the weight of the books. A stifled shout and a few falling books later, and Dagna whirled around to see Mykel half-lying on the ground, his robes tangled around his legs with books spread out on the floor.

"Are you okay!?" she near-screeched, hurrying over to him. She fell to her knees and began scrambling to pick up all the books. "You should've told me to stop wandering off! And I could have helped you with these books. All you had to do was ask." As she stacked the last one on top of the others, she looked up at him, her eyes gone wide again, but this time with worry. "Did you hurt yourself?"

Mykel couldn't help but laugh. "No, no, no," he shook his head, "I've had a lot worse than this. It'd probably be best if we got these things onto a desk and soon, before I cause any more damage."

Dagna hoisted up two of the six books, "Good idea! Show me the way, fearless leader."

When they finally reached one of the rooms reserved for "honored guests," he nudged open the door for her and nodded into the chamber. "I remember passing my these rooms constantly growing up. I always wanted to stay in one, but I never got the chance." He laughed again, but this time it was mostly at himself.

"It's so _cold_ in here, though," she replied, placing the two books _very carefully_ onto the desk. "It's warm where there's a lot of people, even with such high ceilings."

Mykel set the other four texts onto the desk beside her two. "You're cold?"

"Well, technically, I haven't been warm since I took my first step onto the Surface, but here especially. I bet it's all the stone and having no fire to warm it."

No fire, huh? Well, he could fix that.

Chewing on his bottom lip, Mykel wandered over to the hearth. Usually these things were already lit for impending guests, but he'd sort of shown up at an inconvenient time. Or maybe the Maker was smiling upon him, handing over the opportunity to impress her in a way he hadn't been able to yet. He bent down in front of the fireplace to check the kindling. Everything was ready, poised for the absolute perfect fire.

_Let's hope I don't set my robes on fire,_ he thought to himself. _You've only been lighting fires for over a decade. I'm sure something will choose to go wrong now._

But nothing did go wrong. Dagna's mouth formed a perfect "o" as she watched a flame flicker to life from his index, setting the dry logs on fire in a matter of seconds. The look on her face was completely worth his tripping and falling, his aching arms, the weeks it took to walk from Denerim to the Circle to Orzammar and then back again.

She went to the fireplace and held out her hands, rubbing them together to spread the warmth up her forearms. "Thanks!" It wasn't _much_ of a reaction, but it was the only word she could get out at the moment.

Mykel stood back, hands laced in front of him, watching as she lapped up the heat like a kitten with a bowl of milk, all smiles. When she turned around, however, the wide curl of her lips slackened a little. Not by much, but he noticed. "I don't remember if I've thanked you," she said, her feet shuffling in place. "Or if I have, I _know_ it's not enough. You didn't have to do any of this."

"You don't have to thank me," he responded without a moment's hesitance. "If anything, Irving should be clawing at the door to rain his thanks upon both of us."

At that, a laugh bubbled from within her, and she moved quickly forward, her arms sliding around his waist as if she'd done it a thousand times before. She was mighty strong for such a little thing, but it didn't phase him in the least. He returned the embrace as best he could, his hand settling upon the slope of her neck, the pad of his thumb stroking her cheek.

After a long moment, Dagna pulled back and looked up at him, a crooked index finger beckoning him downwards. His cheeks burned – much to his annoyance, but he did as he was asked. Placing her hands on either side of her face, she drew him downwards and gave him a kiss on the tip of his nose, patting his cheek indelicately.

"_Thank you_."


	3. SerNature : Daveth and Female Soldier 9

_Daveth/Female Soldier, whom I lovingly refer to as #9. This is humor, smut, with a little bit of sweet at the end, 'cause Daveth is awesome like that._

_

* * *

_

Maker only knew how she kept getting herself into these positions. The man had been appalling! He was a lecher – she _swore_ there were holes in her armor from where he was leering - and he _reeked_ of sleazy criminal. And he was _handsome._ More than that, he had this _smirk_ that she just could not seem to get out of her mind. The pull of his lips flashed some teeth and crinkled his eyes and if she wasn't so afraid of blasphemy she would have admitted to believing that the Maker must've turned His sight back onto humanity the very moment she witnessed it.

Ever since she had given the rogue a cold shoulder, she had him on her mind (or, well, her libido) near _constantly. _She wanted to know what he looked like under those leathers, lick his scars, and let him have his way with her. At least three times. She wanted to see that Maker-blessed smirk again, and again, until he was so giddy with sex, it became a permanent expression on his sculpted face.

_Maker's Breath,_ she thought to herself, corner of her mouth quirking up, _I bet he's **really** packing it below the belt, too. _

The _entirely_ out of character thought caused a flush to rise to her cheeks, heating her up even more than she already was. Chewing on her lip for a moment, she nervously shuffled her feet; she was barely a few feet away from the makeshift Chantry the soldiers and sisters had set up, _not_ the place to imagine a _criminal_ naked and doing unspeakable things to her, most of which she had never even _considered_ before meeting that _scoundrel. _It was _his_ insinuations and filthy leering that made her mind wander so... _provocatively_. In fact, he was a distraction! What if she got killed during the battle because she was thinking about how good he looked all sweaty and dirty?

She _had_ to give him a piece of her mind, for her sanity's sake.

But first, she needed to cool down, temperature wise. He was the type of guy who could probably _smell_ arousal from a mile away and she felt like she was _drenched_ in it. Sighing, she muttered a quick apology to the Maker, and scurried off in the direction of a small stream near to the ruins. Only in her civilian clothing, which consisted of an off-white linen shirt with the sleeves torn off, brown, one-size-too-small trousers, and her boots, she stopped by her tent on the way out of the main army's section of camp to grab her dagger. The little creek was only _just_ close enough to Ostagar to ward away animals, but it was better to be prepared, especially with darkspawn about.

As she approached the bank, she heard splashing, more specifically, the obvious sounds of someone bathing. It really wasn't all the surprising, considering it was the only nearby water source, and it's not as if she hadn't seen most of her fellow soldiers naked at some point – you tend to give up on modesty when you're bunked fifty to a room – so she just pressed on; she wouldn't be there long, just a quick splash of the cold water and then off to find that cheeky bastard to give him what for.

Bending down to a crouch, she set her dagger on the ground and cupped her hands in the water, flicking several handfuls to her face; it wasn't as cold as she had hoped for. Maybe a quick bath?

She rose her head, only to see the same Maker damned smirk that had been plaguing her thoughts all day, only this time it was in the flesh. The very naked, very wet, very _sexy_ tanned and scarred flesh. She was pretty sure it wasn't healthy for her heart to _stop beating_.

He was leaning casually on a rock protruding out of the creek, resting his weight on a well-formed bicep. Droplets of water caught on the ridges of his pecs and abdominal muscles, making it extremely difficult to ignore them as they traveled downward, catching in the light dusting of hair that trailed into the water. Maker's _balls_ if he just moved an _inch_ closer to the shore she'd get a pretty nice view of his... _downstairs. _It felt like her eyes were going to pop out of her head, and truth be told, she thought it was well worth it.

"So, sweetling." he drawled, licking his lips. "You change yer mind about a roll?" The smirk widened and he let out a small laugh. "Now that you've seen the goods, o' course." His eyebrows waggled suggestively to punctuate the statement.

_Oh, I don't think so Ser I'm-So-Sexy-and-Distracting, _she thought, grinning inwardly, _I'm going to tear you a new one and--_

She cleared her throat and swallowed hard, interrupting her own thoughts. "Yes," was all she managed, and frankly she was proud of herself for not _squeaking._

Or, at least, she _was_ proud until she realized _what she had just said_. Her teeth sank into her lower lip, as she desperately tried to think of some way to backpedal. All she came up with was the fact that he had quite a few ragged scars all over his chest and stomach and that someone should really kiss them better. Maker, her face was _on fire_.

"Oh, yeah? I knew you'd come 'round, sweetie." he said, as he pushed himself off the rock. "So, you gonna strip or do I get the pleasure of unwrappin' ya?"

"I-I..." she stammered, cursing herself. "I don't... I don't even know your name."

His eyebrows shot up, but he grinned. "Name's Daveth, m'lady," he said with a bow, that was _definitely_ more to show off his rippling muscles than to be chivalrous, "an' I'm at yer service."

_Good enough,_ she thought as she tore off her shirt, ignoring his amused chuckled as she removed her boots and trousers in what had to be record speed. Still clad in her smallclothes, she rocked herself up from the ground, grabbing the linen he had brought to dry himself and running over to a bare patch of grass. She sat down, leaning her weight back on her hands and letting her long legs stretch out in what she hoped was a seductive manner.

Whether it was or not, Daveth came sauntering out, like some tanned, dripping _god_ and _holy Maker _he was _big_. Being only a woman, and apparently an incredibly weak-willed one at that, her hand unconsciously drifted down over her smallclothes, rubbing herself in anticipation. By the time the object of her desires had laid himself by her side, she was already panting.

Daveth's large, calloused hand closed around her wrist and tugged the devious appendage away. "No need to go and take away my fun, now, is there?" he teased as he ran his hand over her ribs, one finger toying with the cloth of her breast bind until it managed to sneak into the fabric, brushing the underside of her bosom teasingly. "Am I rippin' them off or...?" His eyebrow rose and he pressed against her skin a little more forcefully.

She pushed his hand away and sat up, hands going to the ties of her binding. "You're going to let me do what I've been thinking about all day." she stated, setting the strip of cloth off to the side.

Quickly, before she lost her nerve, she straddled Daveth's hips, leaning down so that her pink lips met his ravenously; his tongue immediately slipped into her mouth and she gladly tangled her own with it. Her hands ran across his shoulders as one of his reached up to her now half-undone bun, finishing the job and eagerly tangling his fingers in her freed blond locks, pushing her to deepen the kiss.

Eventually, they did need air; the moment she broke away, her lips trailed downward, planting kisses on his stubbly cheek and chin with a hint of tongue down the column of his throat, pausing to nip at his Adam's apple, then continuing on, leaving a wet path to his collarbone.

"Ah- _Andraste's tits_, woman," he chuckled, voice strained but still husky. "What dirty little thoughts 'ave been goin' through that mind of yers?"

Deigning not to answer, she slid down further until she came face to face with a long, ragged scar that cut from one pectoral, diagonally down to his other side, nearly to his ribs. Acting on her earlier daydreaming, she followed the slick skin with lips and tongue, smirking to herself as he let out a surprised gasp, that morphed into a strangled groan as her breasts brushed against his lower abdomen.

Daveth murmured something she couldn't quite catch as she progressed further, to a smaller, but wider scar by his navel. One of his hands gripped their makeshift bed tightly, the other delving into her hair, firmly pressing her further down.

"Not that what yer doin' isn't _great_ but-- _Holy Maker!_" He added, cut off by her wrapping her lips around the tip of his hardening shaft. The hand in her hair flexed unconsciously. "Mmm. That's it, girl. _That's it._"

Her tongue swirled as her cheeks caved in, slowly working her way down his length; broad strokes against the thick ridge of his member rewarded her with a primal growl from the man. She heard him rumble something about 'there definitely being a Maker' as he tugged on her hair, thrusting up in instinct; she ran her hands up and down his inner thighs in response, sucking a little harder and letting the tip of her tongue play with the subtle veins covering his length.

Before she could start using her hands, she felt her at-the-moment lover sit up slightly, resting on his elbow, using his other hand to gently pry her off his more than ready flesh. Daveth hissed in pleasure as she gave his arousal one last lap, before letting it out of her mouth with a loud 'pop' that caused her to giggle slightly.

The roguish man grinned at the sound. "C'mere," was his command, spoken in a low voice that made her nethers tingle even more.

She obeyed, sliding up his body, letting her muscular thigh rub against the proof of his need. He sucked in a desperate breath before claiming her mouth with his in a messy, searing kiss as he rolled them over. More than happy to be pinned under his toned frame, she wrapped her arms around his neck and worked her lips with equal ferocity, catching his swollen lower lip between her teeth and tugging in encouragement. Daveth growled, hand snapping to her smallclothes and _ripping_ them off and _by the Maker_, she had no idea she could be so turned on, but he kept fanning the flames higher and higher.

Without breaking their kiss (except for occasional pauses to catch a small breath) he situated himself more comfortably between her thighs, tip of his arousal brushing her wetness. He chuckled smugly as she pulled back from his lips, whimpering and thrusting her hips up in a pathetic attempt to make contact again. She _needed_ him in her _right now_.

Daveth pecked along her collarbone, nipping at the dip, trailing up the the column of her neck, across her jawline, until he reached his destination: her ear.

"Tell me what you want, sweetling." he murmured in a low rumble. "I'll even give it to ya, if you ask me real nice."

She wanted to strangle him, but _Sweet Andraste's knickers_ if that wasn't the _hottest_ thing she'd ever heard. She'd play along – she was too far gone to do anything else.

Ignoring the sting of his stubble, she brushed her cheek against his and nipped his earlobe, before whispering back in the most seductive tone she could muster, "I want _you_, Daveth. In me." A whimper escaped her as she shifted her hips up to feel his arousal press against her own. "_Please."_

All of the sudden, he sank into her in one masterful stroke, letting out an 'ahh' of relief as he squeezed himself entirely inside. She threw her head back and moaned throatily, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist and locking at the ankle, pressing him into her hips even more. His hands splayed out on either side of her head, mindful to slip under the wild strands of her golden locks strewn about her. Once satisfied, he began to move, pulling out almost completely before sliding back in.

Her hips automatically tilted upwards a little more, allowing him deeper into her heat; they both growled at the sensation. Her arms wrapped around his torso, blunt, practical nails dug painful half-crescents into his shoulder blades as she met his frantic pace thrust for thrust.

Noises she didn't even know she could make left her throat mouth in rapid succession. Declarations of awe, pleas to go faster, commands to _fuck her harder_; everything was heard and obeyed by the man that had haunted her since they met.

It didn't take long for her to begin to feel that wonderful _burn_ that sent tingles straight down to her toes. Everything became more intense; her muscles contracted and her upward pushes became brutal out of a frantic need for release. Daveth obviously felt it too, his thrusts became harsher and quicker, until he finally just _ground_ into her, using his body to rub that little bud that _no man_ ever seemed to be able to find and everything _blurred._

She only vaguely remembered screaming out his name as the tension in her belly shattered violently, all manner of colorful stars dancing before her eyes. Once the world righted itself, she noticed Daveth was panting heavily, face buried in the crook of her neck... she didn't recall him finishing - though she was having trouble remembering anything but the most basic 'BREATHE' - but he obviously must have, judging by the fact he was _crushing her._

Nudging him with a little more power than she intended, he sort of flopped onto his back with a 'thud'. He didn't seem to notice, still catching his breath, body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Sitting up, she chewed on her lip nervously; the high from her orgasm fled quickly, as she considered _why_ she slept with this man.

"_Life is fleeting, you know. That pretty face of yours could be decorating some darkspawn spear this time tomorrow."_ was what he had said to her. It was true. She'd probably be dead soon... at least she was able to... _what?_

_You slept with a man who's probably had half the camp's women already, _she mentally berated herself, _Mother would be **so proud.**_

She felt tears coming on, but sniffed them back. It wouldn't help anything to be a child about it. Unfortunately, Daveth seemed to have heard the noise. Having seemingly collected himself, he sat up, placing his hands on her shoulders in an awkward 'I'm not really sure what to do' sort of way.

"We're going to die tonight, aren't we?" she asked, though it was more to the Maker, than to her lover.

She felt him shrug. "Yeah, probably." he remarked simply, as if commenting on the weather or how lovely the trees looked this season. "Does it matter? We gotta stop the darkspawn, one way or another, right?"

Her brow pinched together. He was braver than a majority of the army! Looking over her shoulder, she caught his lop-sided grin.

"'ey, look at it this way. If we all die, you won't have ta go the rest of yer life bein' ruined for other men, huh?" With that he patted her on the back like she was just another soldier, and went off to the bank of the creek to gather his leathers.

Despite the show he was putting on, she really didn't _see_ him, or anything. How'd he stay so damn _calm_ despite death looming? Was he just suicidal? Or did he really _believe_ that if they died, they might still make a difference.

The rumple of clothing by her side drew her from her thoughts; he had brought her clothing over to her.

Crouching down, he looked at her straight in the eye, even with her nakedness. "Look after yerself, you got that?" he asked, placing a hand on her forearm; she nodded. "Good. Pretty little thing like you don't deserve to die here."

With a parting peck on the cheek, he headed back to Ostagar, no doubt to brag about his latest conquest. As she rose to slip on her clothing, she found she really didn't mind, all things considered.

He was a pretty decent man, past that smirk.


	4. SerNature: Leliana and Ser Bryant

_Leliana is mostly pining for Marjolaine here, but there are the beginnings of something, perhaps, with Ser Bryant. Some angst, lots of comfort and sweetness._

_Transfigurations 12:1-12:6 was nicked from the wiki, none of it is mine.  
_

* * *

Leliana always found her way back to the small garden on the side of Lothering's chantry. The smell of roses reminded her of a simpler time, even if it wasn't the same her mother coveted, back when she was just a pretty little girl who sang pretty little songs for Lady Cecilie.

Tears stung her grey eyes as she wearily slumped down to her knees in front of the only dead bush in the garden. The branches were a sickly brown color, brittle and looked as though just a strong breeze would cause the entire plant to collapse. Leliana's chin quivered and she bit into her bottom lip to keep herself from crying; she knew exactly how the rosebush felt.

Marjolaine. The very thought of that _woman_ defeated all of her efforts to compose herself. Bitter tears of defeat and loss streamed down her shallow cheeks, still sunken in from her malnutrition during her imprisonment. She didn't sob, or wail, or sniffle; the release of anguish was quiet, full of self-loathing and regret. Leliana sat on her heels, wringing her wands in her lap, running over what happened to her over and over again.

She _loved_ Marjolaine. Loved her so much, she had been utterly _blind_ to the bardmaster's nature; how could she not have known better? She was a _bard_ and well-versed in those _blasted_ romances that always told you that 'love is blind', yet she completely ignored it all in favor of being that heartless woman's _plaything._ Marjolaine had always been ruthless and cunning, in fact Leliana had witnessed her leave bards under her tutelage to the guards when they displeased her. For whatever reason, those men and women getting captured never seemed to bother her former-love and the sudden realization that she doubt down had them all killed on route to the dungeons forced a broken wail from her throat.

_Oh, why, my love? My Marjolaine... you wanted me to suffer? You wanted me **tortured**? _

Salty droplets fell to her hands as she hung her head, silent sobs wracked her entire body. Of course she wanted her tortured. Marjolaine knew, even in betrayal, Leliana would never give them information. She clasped her trembling hands together and brought them to her forehead, rocking back and forth frantically as the only chant that ever gave her comfort left her lips in a smooth soprano lilt that _refused_ to crack, despite her lamentations.

"_O Maker, hear my cry:/Guide me through the blackest nights/Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked/Make me to rest in the warmest places." _she sang out, pleadingly.

Visions of long nights tangled in the sheets with her beloved danced before her eyes, and her heart cried out in anguish. Leliana _would not break._

"_O Creator, see me kneel:/For I walk only where You would bid me/Stand only in places You have blessed/Sing only the words You place in my throat." _Her voice became stronger, still as her tears stopped flowing.

"_My Maker, know my heart/Take from me a life of sorrow/Lift me from a world of pain/Judge me worthy of Your endless pride."_

_Please, Maker, make this end. Let me be worthy. Let me be free of her, here, in the land of __your Prophet; your love, Andraste._

"_My Creator, judge me whole:/Find me well within Your grace/Touch me with fire that I be cleansed/Tell me I have sung to Your approval" _Leliana's singing rang out, rising into a crescendo with all the power she could muster.

A small smile graced her lips and she was so entranced by the warm feeling in her chest, she didn't notice the figure kneeling down beside her, a respectable distance away, nor did she hear the honey sweet baritone that joined her in the next verse.

"_O Maker, hear my cry:/Seat me by Your side in death/Make me one within Your glory/And let the world once more see Your favor"_ the two voices melded in perfect harmony, so beautiful, it took the ex-bard a moment to realize that there was, indeed, another voice accompanying her own.

Her head snapped to the left of her, where a man (a templar judging by his armor) sat, ignoring her completely as he finished the last line in a clear, rich voice so full of reverence it nearly brought her to tears again.

"_For You are the fire at the heart of the world/And comfort is only Yours to give._" he chanted, sighing happily as the last words graced his lips.

As if he had only just noticed her, he turned his head her direction, smiling warmly. "Forgive me for intruding, but... well, Transfigurations 12 has always been my personal favorite."

Leliana shook her head and smiled back briefly. "Oh! No, no. You are quite nice to listen to – and you were interrupting nothing, I just enjoy the smell of the roses." She cleared her throat delicately. "I... don't believe we've met? I am Leliana the--"

"New lay sister from Orlais?" he asked, cutting her off; she nodded and looked back to the dead rosebush in front of her. "I am Ser Bryant, head of the templars here in Lothering. A pleasure to finally meet you."

She nodded and murmured a 'thank you', wringing her hands in her lap once again, waiting for him to leave so that she might continue her prayers. Bryant, unfortunately, seemed more than happy to stay; he stretched his long legs out in front of him, mindful of the robe portion of his armor, and leaned back on his hands.

Annoyed, she turned to look at him. Bryant was quite handsome, really – something she never failed to notice first – with his long, jet-black hair that was currently tied back in a braid. His chocolate skin made him exotic, to her, and his sepia colored eyes were so inviting she could have easily stared into them for hours. A defined jaw, free of stubble, thick, chapped lips and a strong nose completed the muscular package quite nicely.

"I find praying with others helps me more than keeping to myself." he said, tilting his head slightly. "We're all harder on ourselves than truly need be. Usually only other person is capable of showing you how foolish you're being."

"I'm being foolish, then?" she asked, arching a brow. "Do you always start new relationships out this way?"

Bryant chuckled - it was a warm, melodic sound that made her feel _gooey_ inside – and held up a hand in surrender. "Forgive me, sister. I meant no offense." His lips curved into a small smirk, hand dropping down to his lap. "And, no, I don't start new relationships that way; I call even my oldest friends foolish. Everyone needs to be told at some point."

A small titter bubbled up from her throat, but she said nothing. The templar apparently took that as an invitation to continue. "How often do you come out here to cry, Leliana?" She felt her brow wrinkle, but he stopped her before she could speak. "Your eyes swollen, sister. I know the signs of tears well enough." Bryant used his hands to scoot himself closer to her side, and placed one gently on her forearm. "You're in the Maker's home, now. Please, allow me to be His ears today."

Leliana caught his sympathetic gaze, feeling tears beginning to well. A short, mirthless laugh came from her, eyes dropping to the cobblestones. "Two or three times a day, I think. I... can't seem to stop myself." The grip on her arm tightened in encouragement and she sighed. "I... was betrayed by someone very dear to my heart, ser. It is a difficult thing to forget."

Their eyes met again as a comfortable silence fell over the garden; he seemed to be appraising her, though not in any lecherous way that she was accustomed to. His thick brows pinched together as he broke the quiet. "I do not know what you have suffered, Leliana; truly, it's none of my business. What's important, now, is that you are _here_ trying to make things right."

Ser Bryant smiled brightly, teeth flashing, moving his hand to her cheek in a friendly, comforting gesture. "The Maker sees your heart, sister. No matter what happened to you; no matter what you've done... it's important not to forget that."

She sobbed, then; a gurgling wail full of fear and hatred and so many other things that she felt she could never let go of. His arm wrapped around her, guiding her to lean against him until her cheek rested on his chest. Once she was settled, Bryant's other hand came around to stroke her hair soothingly as he sang the verses of Transfigurations 12 against the crown of her head in a low, measured voice that only she could hear.

Leliana was terrified, heartbroken, and she hated herself beyond all reason, but as he melodically murmured the words to the only part of the Chant that ever really meant something to her, she felt little bits of herself slowly start to mend. The tears streaming down her face finally subsided and her sobs died away to small whimpers, he didn't stop chanting, or gently rocking her back and forth until she deigned to pull away. Kissing his cheek, she breathed another 'thank you', this time against his skin, and left him sitting on the stones of the garden without looking back.

Perhaps she could be free, after all.


	5. Hermia S : Cailan and Celene

_The beautiful-amazing-lovely King Cailan and Celene, the empress of Orlais. "Negotiations for an alliance" isn't very subtle, guys. Nothing too explicit, but this one does contain sex! And it's so-much-more-romantic-and-squishy-than-I-intended. Cailan, this is your fault. I am disappoint._

* * *

  
Traveling to a town so far from Denerim no one recognized him by sight, Cailan decided, was one of the simpler pleasures in life he should be able to indulge in more often.

While he reveled in his own notoriety, there was something very _mysterious_ and _dangerous_ about sneaking around in such a way. His guards were back at the inn where they'd stopped to "rest" on "the way to Montsimmard." In no more than two days, they would be turning back to follow the Imperial Highway to Ferelden. What would he do in Montsimmard anyway? The story was good enough for the simpler people of Ibinis, a township thankfully void of gossipers and thugs.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he slipped through the men and women on the streets. The hood of his cloak was pulled up to shade his face for the most part, but it was hardly enough to mask his grin. To anyone, he looked the honest rogue, his clothes fine enough to turn heads, but not so fine as to spark suspicion. And his smile was calming enough, reassuring even. They could tell they weren't in danger, even despite the man's formidable height.

But he did not have time to merely walk around; he was expected somewhere. The very thought of what was waiting for him lengthened his strides.

The stories he heard of the Empress Celene were nothing but complimentary, even those given to him on usually harsh tongues. She was exceedingly clever – a scholar, though it was said she was quick to call herself an "amateur." While they agreed with her in person, that was hardly the case once they were out of earshot. She was a patron of education and the arts, well-versed in politics and poetry, and one of the most striking figures ever to sit at the head of Orlais. While the sentiment was often attached to leaders to preserve the head of the speaker, Cailan believed this to be true from what he'd heard of her.

Cailan's blue eyes drifted upwards to the intricately carved wooden sign hanging above the door. "The Sleeping Knight," it read in a rolling script, painted a deep scarlet and flecked with what appeared to be false gold. Hearsay claimed it was the most expensive inn in the Heartlands, though he was hardly surprised. An empress belonged nowhere else.

He opened the door and took a step in. The interior was very warm, almost stifling in comparison to the weather outside, but in a way that was almost comfortable. There were a few patrons scattered about, all enjoying their own company or the company of a friend. He spotted the inn keep standing at the far end of the room before two large wooden casks.

Confidence poured off of him in waves as he made his way towards the barkeep, who looked up at the very last moment, eying the stranger who looked every inch a rogue as he leaned one arm on the counter. The owner's brow lifted slowly, sending wrinkles spreading across his forehead, as he watched the other man lean forward, his eyes shrouded by his cloak. "The barbarian wishes to see the flower," he murmured, voice dangerously low as if sharing some arcane knowledge.

If he hadn't been the one to come up with the password, he'd have been offended. Luckily that was not the case.

"Ah," the inn owner murmured to himself, "Uhm... _The flower _rests where she is first to... see the sun?"

Cailan stared at him.

"East wing, last door."

The king flashed him a winning smile before pushing himself up and moving in the direction he was told. Whose idea had it been to keep everything so secretive in the first place? Oh... _right_.

Ever the gentleman, Cailan lifted a balled fist and knocked three times on the door.

He expected one of her men to answer the door. Had he been at home, he'd have waited in his study for the guest to be brought in, so he predicted it would be the same with Celene. Much to his surprise, that was not the case at all. Even through the thick door, he could hear the tell-tale sound of heels on wood draw near. His posture straightened, and he donned a smile as he watched the door open.

Truly, he'd only ever seen a few portraits of the empress of Orlais, and they always painted her up in enormous wigs and long, billowing dresses. Even still, there was always a striking intelligence in her nearly colorless eyes. Grey, he found, suited her, and the match was only perfected by the glitter that filled them in person.

When Cailan's hands went to his hood, fingers curling around the velvet fabric to drop it near his shoulders, Celene's cheeks dimpled in a pursed lipped smile. "Good afternoon," she greeted with a slight incline of her head. Taking a step back, she gestured into the room, watching with no small amount of curiosity as he ventured into uncertain territory. If he was worried or nervous or even the slightest bit unsure, she couldn't tell. _A king indeed_, she thought to herself.

He was, without a doubt, one of the most _handsome_ men she'd ever laid eyes on, and she knew of more courtiers than she could count. They were attractive, but this man was carved of ivory and gold, it seemed. When he turned on his heel and shot a small smile at her, she could see precisely where his reputation took hold.

"He could charm words out of someone with no tongue," she remembered hearing once, not too long ago.

"Before we discuss the matter at hand," the golden king began, watching her closely as she shut the door behind him and made her way closer. "I have a gift for you." Her eyes dropped to his hands as they disappeared into his cloak, and she stifled the knee jerk reaction of fear without a single wrinkle through her calm expression. From within the deep green folds, he withdrew a box. It was small and relatively unadorned save a few, simple etchings. When he slid off the top, her gift was revealed to her – a dozen full ruby red berries lie together in a compact cluster.

Celene could hardly suppress the urge to snatch them away and devour them immediately. Instead, she stepped up beside him and picked up the largest of the bunch, inspecting its dark red flesh with a scrutinizing eye. "Strawberries," she said softly, "are extremely rare in Orlais. And extremely delicious when grown in the soil of Ferelden, I hear."

"Some claim that the color comes from the blood of our ancestors," he replied, "Though, if it's true, I should wonder why I enjoy the taste so much."

The glint in his eye was almost _wicked_, and she found herself holding back a smile as she bit down on the tender flesh of the fruit. A biting sweetness flooded over her tongue, pulling a quiet murmur of pleasure from her throat. For once, rumor was entirely correct. She was quite glad.

When she'd finished the berry, she opened her eyes to see him regarding her. A dawning realization hit her, and she gave her head a shake, deep brown waves lapping at her cheeks. "I nearly forgot about your gift," she said, giving her bottom lip a dainty swipe with the pad of her thumb. "Give me a moment, and I will return, should it not evade me completely."

And so he gave her a moment, and she returned much quicker than she expected, a slender emerald bottle in her hands. "Wine."

Cailan grinned at this. "A true negotiation."

He wasn't _entirely_ sure how this happened. One moment they were discussing the darkspawn menace, the Grey Wardens, and their potential political alliance, and the next, he was sinking down onto the seat next to her, his fingers wrapped carefully around her wrist, his lips suckling at the soft skin. Surely it had something to do with the wine.

She bit at her bottom lip to silence the murmur of agreement that teased the back of her throat. His mouth was warm and still slightly damp from the wine, leaving a trail of pale red in its wake. Finally, she found her voice, though she didn't have the heart to pull her hand away. "Orlais would benefit greatly from an alliance with Ferelden," she said in an almost whisper. Her lids were heavy, and she shifted on the seat, turning her knees slightly towards his. "And I believe that -" Cailan's teeth nipped at her palm, and her breath hitched, "I believe that Ferelden would benefit, as well."

"I agree with you," he replied, words muffled as he placed twin kisses at the base of her fingers, "Whole-heartedly." He could feel the tiny muscles in her hands tense and relax over and over as his lips moved along her middle finger, the tip of his tongue teasing the only callous to be found on her beautiful hands, raised on the skin from too much writing.

She was _tired_ of sitting there, tired of being kissed and caressed with not a word or action of her own edgewise. Without a single sign towards her frustration, she laced her fingers with his and let their joined fist fall to rest on his knee.

Before he could string another three words together, he felt a noticeable tug on the back of his neck as he was guided upwards, and her lips found his. She could taste the remnants of the wine as she shamelessly slid her tongue along his teeth, uttering a smothered sound of pleasure when they gave way to the mouth she'd been wanting to taste since the moment she heard the sound of his voice.

There were no doubts to pass between the two. Why would they have doubts? Who was to stop them?

Cailan was too wrapped up in the feeling of her to care, too besotted with the sensation of her slender fingers lacing themselves into the tight braid of his hair, too eager to feel more than the voluminous skirts of her dress pressed against him. Even beneath the heavy fabric, he could sense the softness of her form and smell the strong scent of flowers on her skin.

Celene knew what she wanted, and while she realized this was one of the more reckless things she'd ever done, the man sitting before her was unlike anything she expected. Even a charming man can be a cold man, but Cailan – Cailan was all beautiful warmth and kindness and truth, something she never expected to see again. For a woman so used to the colorful, deceptive courts of Orlais, finding such a genuine man was startling. And she _had_ to be closer to him.

She was the first to break the kiss, pulling away far enough to stand, pulling at the hand she still held in her own. He obeyed without a word, lifting himself from the seat to stand before her. "I'll admit," he mused, his free hand slipping her hair from her shoulder to free the skin. His mouth moved along her collarbone, pressing featherlight kisses in between his words, "I've never undressed an Orlesian woman before. You appear to be a very intricate present."

Her shoulder bobbed beneath his lips as she laughed throatily. "I am sure you will manage." She gave a quiet sigh when she felt his arm curl around her back, his fingers teasing the sensitive flesh between her shoulder blades. "With my assistance, of course."

As he predicted, "unwrapping" the empress proved a difficult and trying task, especially when paired with his now clumsy hands. Desire mixed with wine, rendering his fingers careless, but thankfully she was there to show him how it was done. Eventually, the dress and all the trappings that came with it yielded. Each piece was discarded until standing before him was what had to be one of the Maker's lovelier angels.

Even the most devout Andrastian would have been tempted to commit blasphemy after laying their eyes on such a sight. After so many years of taking Anora into his arms, Celene could not have differed from the slender Ferelden woman more.

Every inch of her pale skin held a flush, and a sense of pride rose within him, knowing most of her flesh was pinkened in such a way due to him. Suddenly, his own arousal was pushed far from his mind. He watched as she stood with her back to him, her arms curled before her breasts in one last rush of modesty. There was something striking about this gesture of innocence, of desire reined in, of hesitance born from her own, blistering _want_.

He wanted nothing more than to kiss each dip and curve of her body, to worship every part of her. Moving forward without a thought, he dropped to his knee in front of her. She looked down at him with no small measure of surprise, her lips parting to tell him to stand only to meet his eyes and have the words catch on her tongue.

Bright blue shone with that same astounding sincerity, and she felt a hearty tug in the center of her chest, her hand falling to the top of his head. His eyes closed at the sensation, his attention shifting to the soft skin of her hip. She stroked her fingers through his hair as his tongue curled lazily along her lower abdomen, his own breaths leaving his chest in shortened bursts to mirror her own. The feeling was dewy and warm, and she adored it.

"Cailan," she half-purred, her accent stroking the word like a familiar lover. Shutting her eyes and tilting her head back, she took a deep breath, fingers twisting through strands of gold. Each kiss spread a burning over her skin, but he would not douse it with the water she so needed. Instead, he prodded at the flames, his tongue lapping and kneading the delicate skin of her thigh as if he'd sought her out a thousand times before.

The empress gave a sharp gasp of surprise when the very tip of his tongue ran upwards, coursing over skin with so much care it was almost infuriating. Her fingers tightened in his hair, and he took it as an unspoken order, willingly obeying to the whims of the angel standing before him.

Much later, the irony of this would not be lost on her, though she would never point out such a thing to Cailan. Once again, Ferelden bowed to Orlais, though this time willingly and with hearty reciprocation.

Standing, the king moved them through the small receiving chamber and into the bedroom, removing his own garments as he goaded her backwards, kissing her lips, her cheeks, her throat with each step. When her smooth hands touched the skin of his chest, they did so almost reverently, and he found himself breathless once more, his gaze moving from the milky column of her throat to look into her eyes. She found that she could not look away. Indeed, she found that she did not wish to.

He lifted her hands from his chest and placed a lingering kiss on each palm before claiming her lips once more. For a man with such soft hands, he held a strength she had never known. All the men before him were lithe, more speed and finesse than sinew and brawn, but it was as if he'd been hewn from marble by the Maker himself. She could feel each muscle, each inch of skin react to the whisper-soft kisses she covered him with, all curiosity.

When neither of them could take anymore, Cailan cradled the back of her neck and sunk into her, a quiet sigh parting from his lips.

As she had so thoroughly proven already, Celene was _different_. She did not merely lie there, accepting his advances for the sake of complacency. She was in constant movement, her hands smoothing and kneading at his back, her toes curling, her back arching. And she was never silent. From her lips came a melodic flow of Orlesian, pouring over and intoxicating him though he couldn't focus on each word enough to understand what she was saying. He responded with murmurs of his own, his lips hot and his pleas ardent.

With each stroke, he encompassed her fully, and she allowed it. They'd both traveled far for these negotiations, and all she could think to herself was that she'd ride that distance a hundred times more if she knew this awaited her.

She came quietly, and her entire body quivering in his arms, the strident sound of her climax lodged within the confines of her chest. He soon followed, gasping and clawing at the bedsheets gathered around her head, his handsome features distorted in what could be mistaken for pain if not for the heat in his eyes.

Cailan collapsed onto his forearms, his nose mere inches from hers; their eyes locked, not moving for a small eternity. His forehead was beaded with sweat. Golden tendrils framed his face having escaped the braid. While everything about Cailan was beyond her expectations, the culmination of it all lie behind his eyes. The soft blue mirrored things that she'd read long ago about his father; all audacity and chivalry and inner strength. But there was _more_. There was kindness and honesty and a guilelessness that only intrigued her.

Most looked into those eyes and saw a mere shadow of King Maric. They saw a juvenile, a boy playing king; a man untrained and unready. They saw immaturity, an inability to lead. Some even swore they saw stupidity.

Celene looked into his eyes and saw Cailan Theirin, and he was exactly who he needed to be.


End file.
